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Empathy: The Cost of Love [Navigating Grief & Loss]
Karen Thatcher
The Cost of Love is Grief…
“We often singularly associate grief with death, and although death is legitimately the statistical bearer of this pain, it is not the only host....”
In the last 2 years, I have had more cause than I would have liked, to ponder the complexity of grief and loss.
(I tell you this not as a way to gain sympathy or to expand and tell you all my woes, but as a pure and truthful fact.)
We often singularly associate grief with death, and although death is legitimately the statistical bearer of this pain, it is not the only host. Grief and loss come in all shapes and sizes, none more or less valid than the other. And yes, I have experienced more than my fair share of death-related grief, historically- of which I have been delving into processing recently. Fresh wounds have been opened as we have lost 2 significant family members in just the last 10 months alone, more the year earlier, including one beautiful human lost to depression, who left us too soon, in a flourish of shock.
Death absolutely is a heavy-handed tyrant, dealing out grief and pain without prejudice or compassion.
And yet, death is not the only form.
No one talks about the grief that comes from broken friendships, broken relationships, broken trust and broken dreams.
No one talks about the grief you have to process when someone you trusted lets you down. When someone you thought was a lifelong friend ends up leaving without a word, or hurting you beyond repair.
No one talks about the grief you have to bear when your health is taken away from you, and you have to adapt to a new way of living with a chronic illness.
No one talks about the grief you hold when the dreams you had are no longer possible.
No one talks about the grief of a place that you once loved, no longer being the space of safety that you thought it was.
No one talks about the grief of surviving cancer, and being left alive and grateful, but also navigating the long-term impact of treatment both physically and emotionally. Re-finding your identity, now a different person post-cancer, to pre.
No one talks about the grief of being let down by your church, or by your community that you had invested in for a long time.
No one talks about the grief of reconciling your faith and trust in God, when humans let you down so considerably (and often in His name).
No one talks about the grief of stepping out of an abusive relationship and recalibrating yourself when you still crave the approval of your abuser.
No one talks about the grief of finally realising that your self-worth has taken such a slow battering over time, that you now almost don’t even recognise the person you see in the mirror. The grief of who you once were, now a shadow.
No one talks about the grief of misjustice, and mistreatment, and never getting the closure you so desperately want.
No one talks about the grief of recognising that your joy has been slowly stolen by someone who you trusted to safeguard you.
The list is infinite.
Grief and loss come in all shapes and sizes, none more or less valid than the other.
“...emotions are an all-or-nothing deal. You absolutely can choose to stifle the sadness, to avoid the pain, but you can’t cut one emotion off, without cutting off the others too.”
When I first started dating my partner, he asked my Mum a question which I will never forget. A simple question: “What do I need to know about Karen?” Her answer: “She loves deeply. Which means she can be hurt deeply. Her deep and loyal love gets her into trouble when it’s taken advantage of.”
Her answer shocked me because she had put into words something that I had never been able to vocalise myself. And it also was not something I had thought anyone knew ABOUT me either. I once heard it said that emotions are an all-or-nothing deal. You absolutely can choose to stifle the sadness, to avoid the pain, but you can’t cut one emotion off, without cutting off the others too. And so if we choose to stifle the sadness, we’re unintentionally also stifling the joy. When we choose to avoid the pain, we are unintentionally avoiding the happiness. It’s a light switch, and it’s on, or it’s off. There’s no middle ground. As a chronic avoider, this hit me hard. Which would I rather: no emotions at all- no hope; no joy; no love; no excitement OR the pain of all of them- the grief; the loss; the anger; the sadness nestled alongside the hope; the joy; the love; the excitement?
Trust is not something I dish out lightly, I’ve had my trust broken considerably which over time has made me cautious to a fault. (I’m working on it. In the words of Ted Lasso “I’m a mess-in-progress”.) But I do love deeply- very very deeply, and it DOES get me into trouble. My Mum was thoroughly and annoyingly correct. In my processing, and pondering I have realised this one simple thing that I hope although it may not seem positive on the surface, may give you freedom in the long run:
The cost of love is grief.
“The cost of love is grief... It’s a high price, a risky investment, with no guarantee of return. ”
It’s a high price, a risky investment, with no guarantee of return. The stock market ebbs and flows, highs and lows, profit and loss. Is it worth it? I can’t in all honesty say that my answer to that is always “yes”… There are times when I laugh at that stupid phrase “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”, and I regularly think that life would be much easier without.
But when the option is to never love and be loved, or to love with risk of loss…
Would I rather love wholeheartedly and have to feel the pain of grief when a person I loved and gave of myself to, dies and leaves a hole in my life that can never be filled? Yeah, I would choose love.
Would I rather invest in relationships and friendships, open up and allow them the safety to open up in return, with the risk that at some point they may leave me, or betray me, or use my vulnerability against me? Yeah, I would choose relationship.
Would I rather trust God despite humans’ mistakes, and know that He’ll make it right in the end? Yeah, I would choose God.
“As the cost of love, being grief is presented to us, each, we choose it still. Every one of us knowing that the love is worth the loss, the joy is worth the pain, the life is worth the grief...”
The thing with grief is that it doesn’t ever get smaller. It is big, it changes you, and it is constant. A constant murmur in the background. Always there, never departing. Once you have experienced loss in any form, you are never the same. It doesn’t get smaller. What actually happens is, your heart expands to hold more; your heart grows to hold the grief and the loss that once took up the whole space. You upgrade your heart to add space for your grief and your loss to sit alongside the new. The new joy, the new hope, the new love, the new life. As the cost of love, being grief is presented to us, each, we choose it still. Every one of us knowing that the love is worth the loss, the joy is worth the pain, the life is worth the grief. Knowing that because of love, we are never the same. It is worth it for the love.
If I think about how profoundly grief through death has impacted me, I am struck by this: would I feel this much pain, if it didn’t indicate an equal depth of love?
If I think about how grief through being let down by church, has changed me: would I feel this much pain if I hadn’t given every part of my heart to serving, and investing in a cause I believed in?
If I think about how grief through the broken trust of a friendship has shaken me and impacted my self-worth, my self-confidence, and my trust in others: would I feel this much pain if I hadn’t chosen to commit to a friendship wholeheartedly, and had times of depth, times of happiness, times of love before the hurt came?
It’s worth it for the love.
Grief and loss come in all shapes and sizes, none more or less valid than the other.
1) If YOU are sitting in a grief that feels never-ending…
If YOU are sitting in a grief that feels never-ending; a grief that feels heavy; a grief that feels raw and like it will never get smaller, know that you are not alone. Know that although grief doesn’t get smaller, your heart will expand to leave room for more. And it may not currently feel like it, but it is worth it, for the love. In time, you’ll find that you have more room than you knew.
2) If you know someone who is sitting in loss…
If you know someone who is sitting in loss- any form of loss- remember that although on the surface for everyone else, life has moved on… They’re working on expanding around it, and it’s not an easy task. Ask them how they’re doing, check in. Ask them how they’re coping as they hold the load. The power of understanding is GOLDEN. Avoiding the topic doesn’t help anyone- let them know that you see them and you know that they’re carrying a lot. They will have good days, they will have bad ones, and grief shows up in unexpected moments, allow their grief to inconvenience you, and just be there regardless, whenever it does show up.
3) If you are reading this thinking you’d rather keep the light switch firmly turned off…
If you are reading this thinking you’d rather keep the light switch firmly turned off than feel the weight of the cost of love, I get you. I understand. I’ve been there. But as humans, we were not designed to live in darkness, at some point the darkness becomes lonely. The light might just surprise you…
This quote from CS. Lewis puts it beautifully:
“ To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.” - C.S. Lewis.
There may be a cost to love, but there is greater cost to being without it… Find a friend, find a confidante, find a therapist, reach out to me, (or even start a conversation with God).
Don’t do life alone.
Grief is the cost of love, but man is it worth it… In the end.
Did you know I’m starting a brand new podcast called The Empathy Room? Sign up to my mailing list here, to get all the updates as they come…
I’ll be welcoming guests into my Empathy Room to talk about all things empathy in different walks of life, and ask the question- how can we do better?
If you don’t have the words to say to reach out to someone who is dealing with grief, why not kick it off with a card letting them know that you love them and you’re thinking of them? That is always the best way to open the door to a further conversation. (I’ve got loads to choose from in my shop…)
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This is me, Karen, the Thatch behind the Creative. I have an Empathy Card business designed to give people the words to say when there are no words. When I’m not doing that, I’m a Freelance Creative & Comms Consultant passionate about helping and equipping people to communicate the voice of their organisation in a creative and sustainable way. Get in touch, I’d love to hear from you!